


Habits

by duskandstarlight



Series: Habits [1]
Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Did I mention this is smut?, Embers & Light AU, F/M, NSFW, PWP, Post-ACOFAS, Smut, nessian smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-11
Updated: 2020-12-11
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:47:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28014942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/duskandstarlight/pseuds/duskandstarlight
Summary: It became a habit — a habit which Nesta brought from Velaris to Illyria — apart from this time, it’s only one male she beds. Over and over again in a whirlwind of snarls and guttered moans; of tangled limbs and broad, cocooning wings; of sighing breath and claiming, bruising kisses.It’s fuelled by the grief and rage that wants to break through the overlying numbness coating Nesta’s limbs and pervading her soul. At the beginning, it was the only time Nesta truly felt; when Cassian’s mouth was hot on hers and they were caught in a frenetic rush of  yearning and something else that she cannot explain. It’s passionate and intense and feverish, yet laced at times with a tenderness that she does not want to think about. Not yet. Maybe not ever.ACOSF one-shot of Nessian smut. NSFW.
Relationships: Nesta Archeron & Cassian, Nesta Archeron/Cassian
Series: Habits [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2086584
Comments: 44
Kudos: 193





	Habits

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this because I originally intended this kind of dynamic between Cassian and Nesta when I began to write Embers & Light. And then I went for the slow-healing arc. Yet... the concept needed to be written, so here I am. 
> 
> This is a standalone fic, but I would say that it is an AU of Embers & Light, so if you read that then you may notice some similarities. But you absolutely do not have to have read E&L to read this smutty goodness. And it is smutty. MINORS BEWARE.
> 
> I'm dedicating this to everyone who has read Embers & Light. For all of you who have given me kudos and written me comments. For those of you who review my chapters every week despite the fact that I still haven't given you a damn kiss scene yet! I promised smut before Christmas, but unfortunately it's going to be the New Year for E&L (because plot wins, I'm afraid), but do enjoy this NSFW self-indulgent Nessian smut and know that I appreciate each and every one of you for encouraging me to write!
> 
> Major thanks to Jeakat for editing this so beautifully and for not judging me for this smutty little plot bunny that would not go away!

**Habits**

It became a habit — a habit which Nesta brought from Velaris to Illyria — apart from this time, it’s only one male she beds. Over and over again in a whirlwind of snarls and guttered moans; of tangled limbs and broad, cocooning wings; of sighing breath and claiming, bruising kisses. 

It’s fuelled by the grief and rage that wants to break through the overlying numbness coating Nesta’s limbs and pervading her soul. At the beginning, it was the only time Nesta truly felt; when Cassian’s mouth was hot on hers and they were caught in a frenetic rush ofyearning and something else that she cannot explain. It’s passionate and intense and feverish, yet laced at times with a tenderness that she does not want to think about. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

Fucking Cassian was not akin to an empty pitcher of ale or that feeling when you woke blearily the next morning with a dry mouth to find someone else’s skin beneath your sheets. There was no deep-set regret or anxiety from her, no constant replaying of what was done or said, no judgement; when they were both sated Nesta would simply get up and move on. 

They did not speak of it; an accepted and silent agreement that Nesta could take what she wanted but she would not seek other bedding partners. Not that she would have wanted to anyway; the Illyrian males were sneering and cruel, their eyes obsidian with the sort of intent that Tomas had displayed just before he had attacked her. When he had trapped her face down on the floor whilst he fumbled and tore at the fabric of her skirts…

So Cassian became a habit as permanent as ink on skin and the silver clawed scars of abuse on her lower back. Nesta could scrub and scrub and scrub but they would never fade. And the worst thing was that Nesta did not want them to, because when the insufferable bastard was pressing deep inside of her and his mouth was slanted on hers, it was the only time that Nesta didn’t feel like she was desperately scrabbling for some kind of feeling. And when she came — everything exploded with such intensity her body would shake and her fingers would spark hot silver, the moans that tore from her throat uncontrolled and liberating. 

Cassian seemed to understand that without an explanation, would coax release out of her again and again until she was exhausted and he couldn’t hold on any longer. 

When it was over, that power settled around them, waiting but quiet. 

That in itself was bliss.

Despite their current, frequent tumbles beneath the sheets, their first month in Illyria had been a series of clenched fists and gritted teeth as Cassian tried to battle the taunting whispers of temptation and the undeniable pull that made them akin to magnets. Then one day they had been snarling at one another in the bungalow, their words winding them closer and closer together until he was staring furiously down at her and she glaring up at him, tall and mighty despite the height difference. Her last forked words had made Cassian’s wings snap out wide, the gesture instinctive, casting a shadow over the both of them — a herald of what was to come. And as they had taken pause, the only sound their ragged breathing, something had turned, like a key in a lock and both of them had known exactly what was going to happen.

Fury gave way to reveal the desire running like a torrent underneath. Nesta watched amber become obscured by dark pupils, until they were nothing but rings of gold.

“Fuck it,” Cassian had rasped suddenly, as if he were letting go of those internal battles.

And then Nesta’s back was against a wall and she wasn’t panicking about being trapped, only consumed with the heat that licked and pulled until she felt as if she and Cassian were nothing but flame. Calloused fingers had slipped between her legs and when Cassian had felt how wet she was, the sound he had made had rattled her bones with such force her ribcage felt as if it might splinter. 

They hadn’t even discarded the majority of their clothes before Cassian had lifted her effortlessly against the kitchen wall and sunk into her. He had garbled nonsensical words — curses between the hoarse rasps — but Nesta’s entire focus had narrowed to the sensation between her legs as he had started to move.

Cassian always made Nesta want to shatter things. It turned out that when they were joined — when they climbed and fell together — it was her that shattered, as if she were china being dropped from a height and splintered into a million pieces.

When it was over, Nesta had watched regret slide behind those hazel eyes. They were still entangled and sweaty from where they had sunk together onto the cold kitchen tiles, their lungs heaving for air as they tried to scrabble together the enormity of what had just happened. 

The anger was not directed at her, she knew. But for giving in. For the moral implications which Nesta did not care for.

After that, they slipped into a routine that was unspoken and only determined when their eyes locked and something turned over inside of them. It was unpredictable and wild — a third shadowy presence in their interactions which curled like smoke around their limbs, as if it were a cat rubbing against their legs, a caress and a promise of what was always to come.

Whether it was predetermined by a thread or sheer attraction, Nesta did not know. It hurt her head to think about. Made her skin itch and her power surge. It made her want to run, so she abandoned the thought that the pull between them might go away. Instead, shesubmitted to the heady trance that allowed her to be the real Nesta, if just for a moment and savour that unquenchable magnetism that was never sated, no matter how many times they came together. 

From the rising tension that had built from the moment they awoke that morning, Nesta had known it would only be a matter of time. They had trained together at the top of the mountain pass, the weather unseasonably warm for Illyria; hot enough that Cassian had peeled off the top half of his leathers in favour of skin halfway through the session.

The endless tan skin and hard cut muscle slashed through with a long, raw scar was enough for Nesta’s power to course through her veins. 

At the first sight of silver sparking at her fingertips, Cassian had sent her a devilish grin. “Wound a little tight, sweetheart?” he baited. 

Cassian did not need to know that she had woken at dawn dreaming of his head between her legs. How frustrated she had been when he had hammered on her door to remind her that if she did not join him at breakfast, he’d personally remove her from her bed himself. 

So, rising to the challenge, Nesta had pulled off her top to reveal the tight fitting training bra beneath and the endless pale skin that she knew he wanted to drink in as if she were the finest wine. 

Nesta raised a perfectly shaped brow at him. “Are you?” she challenged, satisfied when his nostrils flared and his wings flung out wide — like a peacock trying to attract a partner. 

The rest of the sparring session had been a long, drawn out foreplay. The torturous kind. When Cassian had lightly pinned her to the crystalline rock during their free-spar, his torso flush against hers, he had suddenly sat back with such speed Nesta thought he’d been burned.

“We’re done,” Cassian had said tightly, and then proceeded to fly them back to the house without another word. 

For the rest of the day, Nesta did not see him. This was not unusual; when the tension became so thick between them that one could almost cut it with a knife, Cassian would disappear as if he thought the distance would enable him to fight the irresistible urge. Usually he returned bloody and bruised from an extended period in the sparring ring, his injuries already starting to heal as he stomped into the bungalow and sought the solace of a steaming hot bath to soak his muscles.

Today was no different. Nesta was reading in the corner of the couch, her body swathed in heavy blankets when the bungalow hummed to life. The lock of the backdoor clicked, boots wiped against the hard bristles of the mat, the scent of pine, musk sweat and blood travelled on the air. Nesta did not look up, but in her periphery she could see the tangled mop of hair wet from the rain and the mud smeared on his beautiful, impossibly large wings as he emerged from the kitchen and headed straight to the bath.

An hour passed of sloshing water. Tendrils of steam escaped beneath the closed door. Then the sound of water being sucked down the drain, the creak of floorboards, the turn of a lock. 

The dark promise in Cassian’s hazel eyes as he entered the living room clad only in a towel, told Nesta that he had accepted defeat. She barely had time to register him stalking towards her, his wings already half outstretched for balance, before his mouth was hot on hers. He tasted like metal and salt from the half-healed split in his lip, but Nesta did not even contemplate resisting him. Instead, her head tilted of its own accord, allowing him better access to her mouth, her book falling from her lap and onto the floor, forgotten.

Usually, their joining was a mutually exclusive move that ended with them panting and gasping. Sometimes, it was Nesta deciding what she wanted and taking it. Never before had Cassian come to her with such pointed deliberation. The knowledge both thrilled and scared her, but then his tongue brushed deliciously against hers and Nesta could think of nothing else but the way he tasted and how she wanted more, more, more. 

It took everything in her to hold back a sigh when his hand came to cup her neck, his calloused thumb brushing a path across her cheekbone. His tan skin was hot and slightly damp from his bath, muscles hard and corded beneath her palms as they groped for purchase as he pushed her back into the cushions. 

The way Cassian claimed her mouth was less frantic than usual — measured but no less dizzying — and Nesta allowed herself to be swept up in the moment; to be kissed by someone who clearly found such pleasure in it. Allowed him to ease her out of her fleece-lined leggings and trace a path up her calf and her inner thighs with his lips. When he hooked her legs over his broad shoulders, Nesta buried her hands in his wet hair, finding purchase to distract herself from the moan that wanted to release itself from her throat as he slowly bent to taste her. 

The teasing was long and drawn out. Cassian worked her until she was writhing, pushing her to the precipice without letting her fall so many times that Nesta finally snapped.

Yanking his hair, Nesta urged him to pull away. Dark, glazed eyes stared up at her and his swollen lips cracked into a feral grin at the fury in her expression. 

“Stop it,” she snarled, hating the anger that had her so wound up she wanted to sob. _Stop teasing me._

His grin widened. Hot, wet lips on her lower abdomen. The insides of her thighs. Then a tongue brushed lightly over the hood of her clit and her entire body shuddered as everything tightened and threatened to crush her.

Glinting, mesmerising hazel did not stray from her face, enjoying every second that she was at his mercy. “Stop what?”

Nesta raised her head to glare at him and tried to hold it together. “I will not beg.”

“Oh?” 

A long, striped lick with the flat of his tongue from bottom to top. 

A broad circle around her clit that had her toes curling. 

Nesta’s back arched. A sharp intake of breath as everything tensed, ready. And then the sensation faded as his attention moved back to her thigh.

The arrogant, conniving, _talented_ bastard. 

“Cassian,” she barked, silver mist seeping from her fingertips. A sign of how closely wound she was. 

Sharp thrill shot through her stomach. Nesta figured out early on that saying his name unravelled Cassian. She supposed these interactions were one of the only times she said it without derision. Often, Nesta avoided saying his name all together. It seemed too intimate somehow — reverent — to use it in general conversation. A concession. Progression. Yet it had started to slip out sometimes, in place of bat or bastard or _you_. She hoped that wouldn’t become habit. 

“I’ve been thinking about this ever since our sparring session this morning.”

Sharp heat flared through Nesta’s body at the words that rumbled through her skin, the sensation so fierce that it elicited a sound that had Cassian’s eyes glinting. Fingertips trailed an idle path across her inner thigh, the teasing pressure a promise that had everything tightening again. It was a deliberate movement designed to distract her from the throbbing between her legs, even though what she truly needed was for him to attack her until she shattered. 

Two calloused fingers ran through her folds, splitting just as they reached her clit, denying her the constant, regular pressure that her body was taut for.

Another moan of protest only succeeded in pulling something similar from him. The sounds stretched out to fill the otherwise quiet bungalow, until it permeated everything, twisting until they were irrevocably entwined.

“I haven’t been able to stop thinking about the sounds you make or the way your skin turns from pale to flush,” Cassian continued, just as he lowered his mouth to her again, his soft tongue circling her clit the exact the way she liked before his lips closed around her. When he sucked, her high pitched cry was almost animalistic. “But mostly,” he confessed hoarsely, his eyes connecting with hers, as if they were two puzzle pieces slotting into place, “I thought about this.”

Then his tongue was seemingly everywhere all at once and Nesta could not think or breathe from the intensity of it, her orgasm slamming into her with such ferocity that for a moment she was nothing but atoms flung out into the far reaches of space, floating effortlessly, until something tugged her back unwillingly to the present.

When even the lightest of touches rendered her too sensitive, Cassian pressed kisses to her ankles and eased her legs off his back.

Nesta groped blindly for him as cold air hit her skin in wake of his warm body, but then an arm was sliding underneath her back and thighs. 

Before she had time to think Cassian was standing with her in his arms. Instinctively, Nesta wrapped her legs around his broad hips, his hands cupping her backside, his wings curved around their bodies to keep her in place.

“I’m not done with you yet,” he told her hoarsely, and before Nesta had time to even register the tightening in her core, he was kissing her again.

When Nesta opened her eyes, it was because her back had hit soft sheets in a whoosh of pine and musk. 

Cassian crawled over to her, his long, impossibly large torso stretching over her, his wings painting the ceiling in shadow. 

It was all too intimate, so Nesta leant up to take his earlobe between her teeth, relishing in the way he shuddered. “Take the towel off.”

An order, yet she didn’t wait. Her fingers closing around the knot in the fabric as she sat up to chase his lips. When she tugged, the towel pooled to his knees and he hissed sharp into her mouth as her palm closed around the hot length of him. 

“Don’t you dare,” he snarled, as she broke their kiss to dart a glance down at his cock.

This time it was her turn for a wicked smile. “What?”

A growl as bare skin met bare skin, Cassian’s insistent hands pulling her up onto her knees and tugging her closer so she was pressed flush against him. “If your lips even so much as brush my cock this will be over very quickly.”

Fire reignited as his mouth slanted back on hers, the kisses growing hungrier and hungrier.It was one thing to see the effect she had in him, but to hear him admit it out loud made Nesta almost crazed with new-found confidence, the heady haze of lust rendering her someone wholly desirable rather than sickly thin.

She allowed Cassian to coax her around so her back was to him. Before she could tense, gentle hands were gathering her to him, her spine locked safely against his chest. 

“I’ve got you,” Cassian murmured, as the calloused pads of his fingertips scraped back her hair to expose the column of her neck. “Spark me with that fire if you need to, ok?”

The deliberate and genuine truth of his words had Nesta winding her arms around his neck as he bowed his head to kiss the slope of her shoulder. She ground back onto him, into the erection which was still hard and insistent where it was trapped against the small of her back.

He snarled softly, sinking his teeth into her skin, enough to have her tugging at his wet curls so his mouth was brought upwards to meet hers. They become a heady clash of teeth and tongues, of whimpers and grunts. When Cassian entered her, slowly stretching her until he sank in to the hilt, Nesta actually _whimpered_ without trying to catch herself, too consumed with the sensation of him and her, bat and hellcat, golden light and tan dark.

The sound snapped something inside of Cassian and they fell out of intimacy as quickly as they fell into it. The air became full of broken moans, desperate kisses and ragged breath, and when Nesta fell willingly onto all fours, Cassian’s snarl of approval was so wild it was feral. Hands grasped at her hips, but Nesta beat him to it, moving for him instead.

She didn't need to stare at him over her shoulder to know that Cassian’s pupils were blown impossibly wide, his jaw slack as he watched her move on the length of him.

“Fuck, Nesta,” Cassian groaned, the rich depth to his voice enough to tell her that he was gone. Then he confirmed what she already knew, “You’re my undoing, sweetheart.”

He thrust into her in a long, hard movement, dragging along every heightened nerve ending. Already, her clit was throbbing, needing the sliding pressure of her fingers but before she could move Cassian was pulling her upwards as she moaned, “Touch me.”

Coarse hands ran over her nipples, tugging and pinching as she grappled for purchase around his neck again. And when a hand snaked lower and dipped into her slick folds, it was as if she were a puppet and someone had cut her strings; her body suddenly pliant and completely his.

“Hold on, sweetheart,” Cassian rasped. His other hand which had been preoccupied at her breast wound around her waist to hold her up. And still his fingers moved in time with his thrusts.

A bow of his head as Cassian’s lips brushed against her neck. “Does that feel good?” Another ghost of his mouth, this time tracing a line down the curve to the slope of her shoulder just as he picked up the pace, drawing tight circles around her clit with enviable precision.

Nesta cried out, her hips shaking at the building pressure that was peaking so soon after the first. 

When Cassian next spoke, Nesta understood what he meant when he had told her she was his undoing, because what he was doing was threatening to break down every wall and mask she had put in place. “Come.”

The rasped command had her blood boiling. It pushed against her skin, dissolving bone until she was nothing but molten.

“I know you want to,” Cassian said, his voice a husky rasp against the shell of her ear. “I can tell. I can feel your stomach tensing beneath my fingers and feel you clenching around me. I can hear it in your moans, the wildness of them. You’re like a cord that’s about to be cut loose, ready to unravel.”

He bent at the middle, not to pin her, but to place a series of bruising kisses down her neck until his teeth closed over her pulse point, nipping. 

His next words were a seductive vow that Nesta hated to be true, even as every nerve ending sung bliss and her body chanted for more, more, more, “I’ll keep you tethered, Nesta. I promise.”

Sound left her lips as Cassian thrust at an angle so perfect that light danced in front of her vision, pleasure coursing through her with such sweet agony that she bit her lip hard enough to draw blood.

Her body became more pliant — more his — and Cassian groaned, tightening his grasp around her middle as he moved his fingers faster between her legs, building the friction until another broken moan wrangled free.

She started to shake just as Cassian moved away. 

The action left her reeling. 

“ _No_.” The word was strangled in her throat but it was not enough to be silenced. Embarrassment licked over her, the sensation raging as anger welled up to meet it too, like a tide over hot sand. “Bastard,” she spat, but Cassian only snickered as he flipped her onto her back with such speed her vision spun.

He huffed another laugh as she caught her legs around his broad hips, as if she were a limpet clinging to a rock, urging him to close the distance between them again — for him to _please fuck her_ — until she was consumed with nothing but pleasure rather than the awful flux she constantly rode between sheer numbness and overwhelming emotion that had her wanting to scream.

Nesta did not know how many people she had bedded during that year in Velaris — did not know who or what she had been doing for most of it — had been wholly unfeeling apart from when the orgasm ebbed through her. What she did know was that none of them had got her to _feel_ the way he did. With Cassian the pleasure _burned;_ a delicious, torturing kind of sensation that consumed her very being. And when she came apart, everything shook and trembled, her lungs stopped working, her brain finally turned silent if not for the fireworks that exploded across every nerve ending. 

“I want to watch you break,” Cassian rasped in explanation. He pulled a pillow beneath her hips and then without ceremony he was sliding back into her. 

A strangled moan that Nesta was not proud of emitted from the depths of her throat and Cassian fell over her, his hips moving flush against hers, his torso propped up by his hands.

He did not move slowly but he did not fuck her with abandon either. Gods knows they had done that, and it was always her ruination, but as of late Cassian had learnt that rocking his hips upwards in a steady rhythm made her pleasure wild and unchecked, the climb to the peak almost more intense than the descent. 

Three nights prior he had kept her on that precipice for what had felt like hours, until she had been sobbing. He had broken down every wall she had erected herself but she had barely noticed, she had raked her nails down his beautiful tan back above the juncture of his wings, marking him as she begged him for her release.

Cassian’s growl had been so feral and his wings had snapped out with such ferocity when he fell with her that Nesta had almost felt his release join hers. Everything had snapped taut, her ribcage cracking and splintering as light rushed into the inky dark. 

They had remained entwined for long after, limbs trembling, Cassian’s head buried in the crook of her neck, his lips replacing where his teeth had claimed the column of her throat.

It had been intensely dangerous and utterly, utterly addictive. Even now, when Cassian bent his head to kiss her, he tasted like sin and the habit that she did not want to kick. It was too brief, not enough, and she made a sound of distress as his mouth dipped lower to kiss her pale neck.

When he raised his head, his pupils were blown so wide she could only see a slim ring of amber. 

“You look beautiful like this,” Cassian murmured hoarsely, his hips still rocking in that unwavering rhythm that he knew would snap the cord on her self-control.

Nesta wondered how she looked to him. Her skin was coated in a film of sweat, her loose hair a tangle on the pillow, her cheeks flushed. Not the least bit attractive in her mind, but she knew he meant it. Cassian did not lie, not to her. It was an unspoken agreement between them ever since she had arrived in Illyria. 

Not wanting to reply — not knowing what to even say to a confession like that — Nestapulled his mouth back to hers, fingers winding through the snarls of his hair that she had come to depend on during the moments that they came together like this; to keep her balanced as she rode him or whilst he buried his head between her legs. She knew he liked it just as much as he liked the bruising kisses which had lately been turning into something softer, more intimate. Something she did not want to think about. Not yet.

So she nipped at his neck and reached a hand towards his wings which were snapped out wide — desperate for her touch at the same time he were afraid of it.

His hands shot out to catch hers just as she was about to brush the umber membrane. He pinned it down to the bed above her head — lightly, enough for her to break free if she wanted. “Witch,” he snarled softly. “Those are not for you.”

“Then who are they for?” she challenged, panting. “I don’t see you bedding anyone else.”

Nesta did not know if that was true. Cassian still went back to Velaris from time to time. No doubt went drinking with his friends on the rare occasion he stayed the night. Plenty of opportunity to find a willing bed partner. 

Cassian’s harsh snort was his only retort, his nostrils flaring dangerously. And then he was back up on his knees, pulling her hips closer to him and bringing her leg up so the underside of her thigh was resting against his chest. 

“I’m going to fuck you now,” he told her, as if he hadn’t been doing that already. “Best hold on, sweetheart.”

What Nesta liked best about Cassian was that he did not treat her like she would break. That was not to say that he was never gentle. At times he was terrifyingly tender, her pleasure always put at the forefront without her ever having asked for it. Everything with him was passionate and so insanely pleasurable that every other sexual encounter paled in comparison.

This time was no different. The first slam of his hips as he re-entered her body had Nesta’s body arching and the breath sucked from her lungs. She clawed at the pillow above her head — anything to ground her — as he set a punishing tempo. There was no time to be embarrassed of her moans this time, and there was something in knowing how much it affected him, the way she knew every sound from her had his self-control slipping. His hands tightened on her hips, hard enough that she would have bruises the next day as his dark eyes drank in her bouncing breasts before moving to her wrists. It was the only indication that he was battling with the urge to pin her and she knew it was a temptation he would never give in to.

And all the while, that pressure built and built and built. 

“ _Cassian_ ,” she whimpered.

“Fuck,” Cassian grunted, his mouth slack as his gaze dropped to watch himself slide into her. He dropped a thumb to play with her clit, rubbing it just the way he had watched her do to herself — better even — so that the end came crashing into sight with such suddenness her back arched again as she wrestled for breath. 

“Are you going to come for me, sweetheart?” Cassian asked, his voice so low and so rough it grated against her heightened nerves until she began to tremble. He pressed a kiss to the inside of her ankle, the brush of his lips sending a spark of pleasure straight to her core.

She moaned, the sound guttural and Cassian groaned too, his hips kicking into her with such force she cried out again. 

“Is that a yes?” he coaxed, his thumb moving in a way that was too good — too much — as his hips drove into her with such strength the sounds she was making were no longer Fae but animalistic.

And then Cassian fell over her again. Nesta made a sound of relief, pulling him to her with a hidden strength as chiseled muscle met silky smooth skin. He ground his pelvis into hers and then there was no going back, none at all as the head of the bed struck repeatedly against the wall, the sound louder and louder as they tunnelled towards the peak.

“That’s it, sweetheart. Come for me again,” Cassian grunted, his wings flared wide, his claws closed around the metal bed frame for extra leverage.

A large hand came to cup her face, a calloused thumb dragging down her cheek.

His words came just in time. 

“Look at me,” he ordered.

And then her body was wound too tight and, like a cord, it was cut loose. Pleasure exploded through every fibre of her being as she unravelled, her body suddenly as light as air as she fell, and fell, and fell into the amber of his eyes.

She was just about conscious enough to register Cassian’s forehead drop to hers and the sensation of his breath on her cheek. She heard the way he snarled as he followed her, his hips jerking deep inside of her. Felt the room tremble with them, as if it were falling too. Saw her power surge and spark into flame, silver flying from her fingertips and racing above their naked bodies, fierce yet harmless.

It took Nesta a long time to regain function of her limbs. Her fingers tightened around the wind-snarled hair at the nape of his neck and he made a noise against her mouth as he pressed his lips to hers for a slow, languorous kiss.

“That was intense,” Cassian rasped when he eventually pulled away, falling onto his side and tugging her with him. Their limbs were still entangled, Nesta’s hands still buried in his hair as he rested his forehead back against hers.

“It’s always intense,” Nesta said, trying to muster a sense of indifference into her words. To pretend that her guard had never dropped and that she was still the fierce, unaffected Nesta that he was used to.

A throaty laugh. “You have that effect on me.” Another kiss that she should have resisted but she didn’t. She didn’t want to, either, that was the problem. 

“Sleep or wash up?” he asked, clearly noting how her eyelids had started to droop.

“Sleep,” she murmured, burying her face against his pillow and breathing in pine, musk and fresh air.

She hissed as he extracted himself from her grasp. Usually she did not stay, but for once she had made the unconscious decision to remain and he was making her resolve waver, even as the thought of walking to her bedroom seemed too much.

Curiosity nagged at her but Nesta was too comfortable to move, the heavy sensation coating her limbs a welcome tiredness rather than the threat of unfeeling. 

She did not know how much time passed, but then large hands coaxed her onto her back and she felt a warm washcloth between her legs, cleaning up the sticky residue that had coated the tops of her thighs. She did not open her eyes, allowed the temptation of sleep to carry her off on the undulating waves of slumber and consciousness. 

The shift of the mattress had her resurfacing enough to register the warm body that ghosted the slopes of her curves. Wished he would inch closer and wrap her in his arms. Heard the rustle of a wing as it curved over her. She imagined the red and gold membrane; the protective cocoon it provided so she could sleep without fear of being taken. Turning, Nesta moved so that her face was buried in the warmth of his chest. Until she could hear the heartbeat that wrapped around her own. 

A large, hesitant hand came to brush away the hair that had fallen into her face, the gesture gentle, before an arm mustered the courage to wind around her waist. 

It was an embrace that they had not dared to indulge in before. But as Cassian settled beside her, Nesta wondered if this would perhaps be a new habit of theirs if the morning did not bring a sense of foreboding and logic. When Nesta would remember all of the things that had been said and all the hurtful, indifferent actions that hung between them. 

But for now, Nesta relished in the warmth of a body against hers — of the smell of pine and musk and fresh air that made her feel safe — and allowed herself to be swept into the unconscious.

END


End file.
